and when others arrived with flambeaux, he could only intimate that, guided by the ringing of the bell, he had come there just at the time when his colleague was struggling with some extraordinary being who was making a great uproar; that, by some enchantment, a thick vapour had enveloped all three of them, and, that he had been flogging some fantastic spirit that had disappeared. Father Griffon declared it was the Moine-bourru himself, and that he had been suffering the pains of purgatory; the description he gave of his sufferings, served to conceal, in some degree, the state he had been in from liquor and fright.

The Principal did not know what to think of those incomprehensible apparitions; he would not go to bed again but passed all the rest of the night in pacing about the courts and searching all the cellars and buildings of the college, but without seeing or hearing any thing to unravel the plot; several individuals were now added to the believers in the Moine-bourru, in short its existence was formally acknowledged

Crébillon, who pretended to sleep amidst all this tumult and the questioning of his comrades, also feigned illness the next morning and did not rise with the other scholars, for he dare not stir for fear of the least noise discovering the bell in his bed, which would have been an indisputable proof of his guilt; however he anxiously sought to hit upon some expedient to disembarrass himself of such a troublesome and dangerous evidence against him. Scarcely had he been left to himself in the dormitory when he hastily put on his clothes and happily succeeded in conveying the bell into the Father's Correctors' chamber, where they kept their provisions and the presents they received from the boys' parents, and from the boys themselves, such as biscuits made of flour and honey, like those which Æneas threw to Cerberus to mitigate his infernal ferocity.

Crébillon then went down stairs, into the common room, much refreshed and in high spirits, holding a folded paper in his hand, and which he contrived to pass from desk to desk before the time that the Fathers Griffon and Frémion went to pay a visit to the buffet to refresh themselves after the moral and physical fatigues of the preceding night; they had also need of something strengthening to enable them to go through the daily, ordinary, and extraordinary course of correction. Father Griffon took out of the buffet an immensely large chitterling of Troyes, which he had tasted of, but not finished the preceding evening, and hardly had he fixed his teeth in it when he gave a loud cry, and retreated with his mouth bleeding and three teeth broken, while father Frémion retired also from the dish, the bell clapper proving too hard for his teeth father Griffon was yet stupified and annoyed at his ill luck, and deploring the loss of his grinders, which he had, until now, preserved perfect, when father Frémion, on raising the crust of a magnificent paté d'Amiens, encountered a resistance, which bent the blade of his knife, and the pie being opened discovered to the gaze of the two astonished gourmands the bell seated amongst the bacon and occupying the place of the savoury game, the same bell which had so

often warned their empty stomachs of the hour of dinner.

Bell and clapper were both now taken, all covered with fat, to the Principal's apartment, who wondered where they had been found; but the Fathers Correctors remarking a suppressed smile on the countenances of the boys belonging to the fifth form, as well as a smell of garlic and piemeat, which they could not misunderstand, easily divined the destination of the contents of the chitterling and of the pate; they now paid off the grudges they owed to the boys, and the backs of the latter long bore the marks of the rod, particularly Crébillon, who was suspected, if not convicted; he the larceny by an indigestion which it was difficult also in some measure betrayed himself guilty of to attribute to the maigre living of the college, consisting as it did of lentils, beans, chick peas and cheese, with a beverage of pure water. lon had become a great tragic poet, the successor Forty years afterwards, when Jolyot de Crébilof Racine and the rival of Voltaire, one of his friends was curious to know the character of Crébillon which those able masters had entered on the secret registers of the society of the Jesuits, where they inscribed the name, character and moral inclination of each of their pupils, and found the article relative to young Crébillon, which was as follows: Puer ingeniosus, sed insignus nebulo; a boy full of wit, but an arrant good-for-nothing rascal.

THE FAREWELL.

BY MISS ANNA MARIA SARGEANT.

Go, and may angel guards attend thee O'er ocean's breast;

May they from every ill defend thee,

And guide to rest

The barque, thy form so loved containing,
For thy dear sake,

And when the haven thou art gaining,
May joys awake!

Oh! wilt thou, when the foaming billow
Around thee roars,

Think upon her who wears the willow,
On England's shores!
When the bright orb of day is sinking,
In brilliancy,

Dwell upon her who still is thinking,
Dearest, of thee!

Yes, at that hour we oft have met, Love,
In days gone by,

And I can ne'er, no, ne'er forget, Love,
But Memory

Will live upon those happy moments,
(Though it is vain)

And Fancy, with her bright bestowments, Shall smile again.

And when the storm mine eyes shall waken From dreams of thee,

My heart, of hope and joy forsaken,

Shall, dearest, be

Poured out to heaven in earnest prayer, To guard from ill

Him who has held an empire there,

And ever will!

To seek to soothe a ruffian by reason, is to attempt to bind a buffalo with a garland of flowers.-Arabian Proverb.

HISTORY OF A MOTTO.

Non Eget Arci.

Few revolutions are of a very honourable character, and that which placed Stephen on the throne he had sworn to preserve for the rightful owner was as disgraceful in its history as any of the modern State machinations by which a pleasing variety of Constitutions are constantly paraded before the eyes of the world.

Being a female was of no service to Matilda, Empress of Germany, and heir to the Crown of England, and it was owing alone to the bad faith and mal-administration of Stephen and the heroism of her half-brother, Robert, Earl of Gloucester, that she was enabled in 1139 to land in Sussex, for the purpose of fighting her way to the seat from which she had been so unjustly excluded. It is very well known that the first part of her expedition was not encouraging, and she was obliged to make a very hurried flight-like march from Arundel to Robert's strong hold at Bristol, where she was joined by a considerable force, and where her claims were countenanced by the more powerful barons, and what was of more consequence, by the clergy.

It was during this earlier part of her expedition, 'so full of daring and advent'rous spirit,' that an event took place giving to a family still extant the motto which at the present day ornaments the highly polished panels of their fashionable phaton, but it is an event which happened so very long ago that it is quite possible the very descendants may have forgotten its origin.

"We will lie at that newly built castle on the hill," said Robert the Bastard.

"Now if you value your royal sister's safety let us push on to Malmesbury," said William de Roumara, "that is a hold which will afford some protection, but yonder windmill sort of building is scarcely finished, and as you see, totally unpro

vided with outworks."

66

Roumara, I regret to tell you that our friend the Bishop of Salisbury is getting tired, I suppose, of the very confined view he has lately enjoyed of the tower moat, has ordered the surrender of Malmesbury and Sherborne, by which act he has saved De Vere the crime of sacrilege, for he had approached to within twenty miles for the purpose of assault."

"And I suppose he is now in possession?"

"I fear it-therefore ride my brave friend, and see if Brian Fitz Count, the warder, be as true to the imperial cause as I have been informed he is." "Then shall we trust to our good swords for completing the fortifications," said Roumara, with a look (we love to compare the present with the past) like Picton's at Badajoz.

"Here are but twenty men-at-arms," said the same grim warrior to Robert, as he rode into the court-yard beside the right-royal Matilda.

"And where is their master?" cried the imperial and somewhat imperious dame.

"He is away in the west, and hath left strange message for the Earl of Gloucester." "To what purpose?"

"That he was sending in forage, and begged the Earl would look at the quality of the straw.”

"The very outrageous laugh with which William de Roumara followed up his communication was suddenly checked by perceiving unusual menacing glances from Gloucester's eye. A few minutes saw them pacing the turrets of the hold, which being one of the smallest, yet carried to an enormous height might resemble one of our shot towers.

"Brian Fitz Count distrusts some of these knaves, and has gone to raise his tenants in person."

"But the straw-the straw: when did belted knight send such message

Hush! hush! See you not the armoury is well nigh empty, and that there is not so much as one cross-bow on the wall?"

"Then is it treason," said Roumara, looking profound.

"Not so," said the Bastard, "my life on it, or what's of more value, my sister Maud's just inheritance would I wager that Brian is true. Look here, De Vere being so near at hand, the Fitz Count feared to keep his small hold well furnished with arms, lest some fine morning one of Stephen's new edicts might be made a pretext to remove shaft, bolt and bow to some royal castle."

"Nay, then has Brian de Fitz Count shewn much discretion but little valour."

"He wants neither," said Gloucester, " I strongly suspect so good a workman hath his tools not far off; let us see what these sheaves contain, that the yeomen are bringing so tardily up the hill."

"I will engage the men-at-arms in the hall, For mine own part I do opine with thee there is brave Gloucester, whilst thou makest experiments. some mystery in this harvest home, saw ye ever peasant churls so stiff in the back."

"Thus speaking, William de Roumara caught his two-handed sword from the parapet against pressing it most affectionately to his breast prowhich it had rested during the conference, and ceeded to the Presence, whereto he shortly summoned the greater part of the household.

Meantime, Robert, Earl of Gloucester, accosting the foremost of the yeomen who were pressing into the yard, informed him in a careless tone, he would fain see into the quality of the forage they were bringing into the castle. The fellow seemed to understand his purpose pretty well, for, returning the Earl a look of intelligence he continued his way till he had reached a remote corner, when flinging down his bundle on end he stood erect by its side, as if inviting the other's scrutiny. A sharp prick from the barbed head of a long shaft which lay most ingeniously concealed with some half-score of its brethren, quite satisfied the Earl's scruples, and he was turning away from the spot when he felt a small scroll thrust into his hand, at the same time the yeoman, in a voice of indiference, approaching almost to soliloquy, said—

"We tarry this night, I believe in Castle Brian." Robert made no answer, but joining Roumara read him the scroll he had received, which was in Brian Fitz Count's own hand

"NON EGET ARCI."

""Tis Greek," said Roumara.

"Latin," said the Earl, and hath a most pregnant meaning. The arrows are below, and here he assures us, 'The bows shall not be wanting."" "But the bowmen ?"

"Are here," said a voice from behind; both the warriors turned round, benignantly regarding the yeoman before mentioned, and from whom the interruption had proceeded.

"Who are you?" said Robert of Gloucester. "I am Brian Fitz Count!" said the supposed yeoman, taking off the usual disguises with the usual effect. "I did not mean to declare myself so soon, but one of the traitors I have been forced to entertain has disappeared, and that I know will full soon bring down De Vere upon us-so up nobles, and fight for our royal mistress!"

Up guards and at them!" could scarcely have had a more spirit-stirring effect. The little band of adventurers joined now by the men-at-arms, who had crossed the country disguised as peasants, soon put themselves in a formidable posture of defence, and I forget in what page and in what chronicle the full particulars may be found of this spirited rencontre by which Matilda was enabled to reach Bristol, and finally seat herself on the

British throne.

Now to use the ingenious finale effecting method of Sir W. Scott, we profess

To rhyme not to that mindless elf Who hath not figured to himself— how the Empress Maud, her horse all foam, and her forehead all perspiration (for in those days queens, empresses and fine ladies did perspire), with all her nobles standing about her with their swords all bloody-I say it is an insult to the imagination of a reader to describe this necessary denouement, and how Brian Fitz Count kneeling down in that presence received permission to use seven arrow heads on his shield, with the very appropriate motto, "Non Eget Arci"

The descendants of the noble Brian still display this emblazonment, and still glory in this motto; but we regret to say their name has undergone the corruption appointed to all English syllables; and in the modern appellation of " Figginses" none but the antiquarian could identify the posterity of the gallant Brian Fitz Count. T. M. R.

ΤΟ

BY MRS. WILLIAM QUARLES.

Many more will find a pillow, Where this head so oft hath lain; When I am o'er the silvery billow,

Never to return again!

Thou soon hast broke the spell that bound thee,

Another's joys perchance to share;

Yet I can smile on all around me-
But oh! a breaking heart is there!
Go then, forget! I would not task
Thy memory for one little hour;
For thou hast darken'd o'er the past,

For thou hast crushed each favourite flower!
A bird whose gentle mate hath fled,
A tree deprived of every bough,
A loving one, whose hopes are dead,-
Ah! these are like what I am now!
Brighton.

FATHERS;

BY MISS ANNA MARIA SERGEANT.

It is a beautiful and touching scene to behold an aged venerable Father in the unidst of his numerous offspring-guiding them by his counsel-improving them by his superior knowledge, and warning them by his experience. To a virtuous son or daughter, a father in his declining years claims the utmost respect and veneration. The prime of his days has most probably been spent in exertions for their comfort and well-being in promoting their pleasure and storing their minds with materials for future usefulness, and in his age he is indeed entitled to all the consideration and kindness the young can bestow. Such, however, is the depravity of human nature, it not unfrequently occurs that children ungratefully turn from the authors aud cherishers of their being when fortune has perhaps placed them in such a situation as not to require their assistance, or when the education they have, through their medium, received, renders them, as they deem, wiser than their parents. They prove their own folly as well as degeneracy by this conduct, since wisdom is not the possession of knowledge, but the power of using that knowledge so as to make us good and useful members of society.

We may take it as a general rule that a good son or daughter will fulfil all the duties of social life with propriety. I like to view those with whom I may have a desire to be intimate, at home, to see their conduct towards their parents, and if I behold them duteous and obedient I fear not to trust them, or call them by the tender name of friend.

The formation of the minds of the daughters fall chiefly upon the maternal parent, but after the first few years of infancy the task of instruction to the sons devolves principally upon the father: his office it is to point out the most proper pursuits for their years and abilities, to encourage their exertions by judicious praise, or the necessary wholesome discipline; and these are a relief to his mind after the turmoil of business, and a further stimulus to his industry.

None, I should deem, but a father can enter into the feelings of that parent when his children are just entering on the same career he himself is experiencing. We will suppose his eldest born a youth of spirit and talent, but whose retired situation has rendered him yet a novice in the worldeager to enter upon some career whence he can hope for aggrandizement. His ambition may now be to place his worthy sire, his tender mother, his affectionate sisters in a superior situation; to smooth the declining years of his parents and be the future stay of the family. But a father, a wise and thinking father well knows how many temptations and snares await him to crush his pious resolutions, nd induce him to forsake the sweet and holy bonds which now may bind his affections. Many a promising youth has been led away by evil company, by the enticements of pleasure, to cast off all parental authority, and set the parent he once revered and loved at defiance.

To the credit of our sex be it spoken, it is seldom they are weaned by the new and important duties upon which they enter upon leaving the

Y

parental roof; the heart of woman, however devoted to the partner of her existence, clings with sweet and fond remembrances around the parental hearth. Instances are notwithstanding known, where the daughter forsakes her father's protecting care and brings ruin and disgrace upon herself at the same time she rends her parent's heart.

Such proofs of depravity cannot but awaken misgivings in a father's breast. The mother is more trusting; she is apt to imagine her children invulnerable against all temptation; but he, better acquainted with human nature, trembles oft for the result.

I once heard a gentleman (of superior abilities certainly, but who nevertheless often descended to trifling pursuits) chide a fond and affectionate father for some endearing epithet he had bestowed upon his child. Such speeches, he observed, were very appropriate for a mother to utter, but in a man they were perfectly ridiculous. Poor man, I said to myself, I pity you if your heart could be unmoved when the tender name of father is applied to you, and I thought of the monarch who, when chid for demeaning himself so far as to romp with his children, made answer, "You know not what it is to be a father."

Man, although in physical and in intellectual capacity, as well as by education, usually considered the superior of woman, rises not in the estimation of our sex, or in that of the most amiable portion of his own, by closing his heart against the calls of affection in any of its avenues. Longinus compares a great mind engaged in little things to the luminary of day in his evening declensionthough less brilliant and dazzling to the eye than when in its meridian splendour, it pleases more: it is to me a delightful sight to behold a father caressing his offspring when in its earliest state of infancy, when its chief claim to his regard is its helplessness; I love to see him joining in their sports as they grow older. And this association in pastime need not in the least deteriorate from the respect and reverence requisite to be shewn him.

It is when age has silvered the head, and care furrowed the brow of a parent, a pious and affectionate child will seek to make a return for the tenderness shewn in his youth; then duty prompts him to overlook all little peculiarities, failures of judgment or memory, increasing irritability under crosses, and love of ancient maxims and rules. To pass over these trifles with gentleness and good humour is but a just return for what they have endured from our waywardness in youth. I envy the child who has it in his power to sustain and cherish a parent's declining years, to relieve them of the cares of existence, to cheer them by his society, and by filial piety and grateful affection assuaging their pain, and pitying their weakness, thus soften the rough passage to the grave.

ZULIEKA! (BALLAD.)

BY MRS. CORNWELL-BARON WILSON.

There are tears, my Beloved,
In bitterness shed;
But few have been moved,

And none have ere bled
Such deep drops of sorrow
As burst from my heart;
Zulieka! Zulieka!

This hour we must part!

Yet, cheer thee, and weep not,
The time will glide by ;
Affection shall sleep not,

But breathe in each sigh!
And let this console thee,
(The thought it is sweet)
Zulieka! Zulieka!
Again we shall meet!
By Hope's cheering smile,
On Futurity's brow;
By my own Native Isle,

Doubly dear to me now;
From the light of my soul,

The existence shall part; Ere I cease to adore Thee,

All fond as thou art!

I will gaze, Love, at even,
On yon starry sky!
Its tint will remind me
Of Zulieka's eye!
I will think on my vow,
And the promise she gave,
And mingle my tears

With the foam of the ware!
Belov'd and adoring,

Time's wing will glide on; And repay us with rapture, For woes that are gone! Then let this console thee, Love's whispers repeatZulieka! Zulieka !

Again we shall meet!

STANZAS,

ON HEARING THE ROBIN SING IN AUGUST.

Oh! Robin! thy note is a gentle and sweet one, Yet it tells us of gloom, and of heavier hours, When the soft smile of Summer no longer shall greet

one,

When Pleasure shall sleep in the tomb of the flow'rs!

Even Autumn, though Painters so gloriously tiut her,

Evanescently lingers, then sinks to decay, Yielding up all her fruits for the use of Old Winter,

Whose dark robe of clouds dims the desolate day! Yet, Robin, though now we don't hear thee with pleasure,

Still in snow and in storm is thy melody heard; Then remain with thy Poet, partake of his treasure, Till Spring-time returns, and brings bliss to the

bird!

Then mingle again with the wild tribes of Summer, And to hills and to woodlands with joy take thy way;

But remember when cold shall again overcome her,
I will welcome thee back in the Winterly day!
J. M. LACEY.

CHAP. XIV.

I have said that I am particularly fond of meditating in the delightful warmth of my bed, and that its agreeable colour adds greatly to the pleasure I feel in it.

seeing poor Joannetti run after the giddy creature into the passage to tell it that it had forgotten it's hat; another time it's handkerchief.

One day, (shall I confess it?) had it not been for this faithful servant, who overtook it at the bottom of the stair-cass, the blunderer was going to court without a sword, as confidently as the grand master of the ceremonies carrying his staff of office.

CHAP. XV,

"Come, Joannetti," said I, "hang up this portrait."

I am sufficiently awake to know that I am not thoroughly so, and to understand confusedly that the hour of business and of ennui is yet in the hour-glass of time. By degrees, the fellow, be comes more bustling, he finds it so difficult to restrain himself; besides, he knows the fatal moment is near. He looks at my watch, and jingles the trinkets to let me know it; but I turn a deaf ear; and, in order still to prolong this delicious hour, there is no kind of manœuvre that I do not practise with this poor fellow. To gain time, I have a hundred preliminary orders to give. He knows very well that these orders, which I give rather in ill-humour, are only pretexts to remain in bed without appearing to wish it. He affects not to perceive this, for which I am truly grateful.

At length, when I have exhausted all my resources, he advances into the middle of the room, and stations himself there, his arms folded, perfectly motionless.

I must confess that it is not possible to condemn my laziness with more sense and discretion; so I never resist this silent invitation; I stretch forth my arms to shew him I comprehend, and behold me seated. If the reader reflect on the conduct of my servant, he will be convinced that in certain delicate affairs of this kind, simplicity and good sense are infinitely better than the most ingenious wit. I dare affirm that the most studied harangue upon the inconveniences of laziness would not have determined me to quit my bed as quickly as Monsieur Joannetti's silent reproach.

This Monsieur Joannetti is a very honest fellow, and at the same time, of all men, the one best suited for a traveller like me. He is accustomed to the frequent journies of my soul, and never laughs at the inconsistencies of the "other;" he even directs it sometimes when it is alone, so that it may then be said that the "other" is led by two souls. When it is dressing, for example, he makes a sign to me, that it is about to put on its stockings the wrong side outwards, or its coat before its waistcoat. My soul is often amused at

"Well," said I, "what do you see to find fault with in this portrait ?"

"Oh! nothing, Sir." "Yes, you do."

He placed it upright on my bureau, then stepping back a little

"I wish, Sir," said he, you would explain to me why this portrait always looks at me, whatever part of the room I may be in. In the morning, when I make the bed, the face is turned towards me, and if I go to the window, it still looks at me, and follows me with its eyes as I move."

"So that, Joannetti," said I, "if the room was full of people, this beautiful lady would ogle on all sides, and the whole company at once.” "Oh! yes, Sir."

"She would smile on goers and comers the same as on me?"

Joannetti made no reply. I stretched myself in my easy chair, and with downcast looks, I gave way to most serious meditation. What a ray of light! Poor lover! whilst thou art repining far from thy mistress, in whose favour thou art perhaps already supplanted; whilst thou art earnestly gazing at her portrait, and whilst thou art fancying (at least in the painting) that thou art the only one looked at, the perfidious likeness, as faithless as the original, casts her eyes upon all around her, and smiles on everybody.

Here is a moral resemblance between certain portraits and their originals, which no philosopher, no painter, no man of observation had yet remarked. I proceed from one discovery to another.

CHAP XVI.

Joannetti was still in the same attitude, expecting the explanation he had asked for. I raised my head from the folds of my travelling garment, into which I had stuck it, in order to meditate more at my ease, and to recover from the gloomy reflections I had just made.

"Dost thou not see, Joannetti," said I, after a moment's silence, and turning my chair towards him, "dost thou not see, that a picture being a